Just Thought You Should Know
by Literary Bitca
Summary: After Dembe's advice in 2x15, Liz agrees to look at the apartment at the Audrey, where Reddington admits to hiring Tom Keen. Based on a series of daily prompts: I dashed off one chapter a day for ten days straight. Wheew! Complete!
1. First Kiss

Just Thought You Should Know

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money from them, I just love them.

Author's Notes: Prompt from the Lizzington Shippers Facebook page. :) For the record, this is being posted the week after 2x15 aired, three days before 2x16 Tom Keen. Just so you know where my head is at in regards to the canon storyline.

…:::…

Liz stood at the window in the apartment at the Audrey, looking out over the Potomac. Reddington had paused halfway through the living room, giving her space to look over his offering for the first time, his hat held lightly in his hands in front of him. She'd finally agreed to look at it. Not accept it; just look.

"I hired Tom."

Reddington's voice was oddly casual, as if he were announcing his intent to order the salmon at a restaurant.

Liz turned around to look at him, her face confused, but not angry. The objective part of his brain told him to wait thirty seconds—that would change.

"What do you mean, you hired him?"

"As surveillance. To follow you. To watch you. Over five years ago, before you met him. I hired him through an intermediary. I bought a good-looking, non-threatening, intelligent man around your age who could pass as an acquaintance and give me reports on you and your well-being. Your safety. Your career. All without getting actually involved."

Liz swallowed, hard, and clenched her teeth. Reddington noticed her chest rising and falling with more movement as her breaths came faster and deeper.

And he had been right—the confusion on her face _had_ given way to anger.

"Berlin hired Tom," Liz whispered, giving voice to the three words pounding over and over in her head.

"We both did," Reddington said, raising an eyebrow and attempting to keep his voice light. He tilted his head to one side and gave a half smile. "Apparently Berlin's offer was better."

Reddington watched Liz carefully. She hadn't moved from her position on the other side of the room. Reddington felt hollow and cold. Figuring it couldn't get any worse, he plunged ahead, his eyes bleak. His voice had lost some of its careful buoyancy.

"I never met the man hired to become Tom Keen; I didn't even know the alias. I got information from him; that was all. Sam told me you were engaged. He told me when you got married; even showed me pictures. I didn't like your husband's glasses, and I thought '_Tom_' was a bland sort of name; nothing particularly romantic about the way it feels in your mouth…" Reddington stopped talking, but his jaw continued to move for a moment. He bobbed his head, and restarted after sighing. "Around the time of your engagement, the information I had been receiving started getting better, more detailed. And then after your wedding it stopped entirely. It took me several months to figure out that Tom Keen had been mine… and that he'd turned; been recruited by an adversary. Had inserted himself… _far_ deeper into your life than he was _ever_ supposed to…" Reddington took a single step forward, looking at Liz earnestly and apologetically, shaking his head for emphasis. He took a deep breath and let it out through his mouth in a rush. "As soon as I could get my business and affairs in order, set things in motion… I turned myself in to the FBI, and told you that you _could not trust your husband_."

"You lied to me," Liz said, her voice dangerously low and cold. Reddington had expected emotion, shouting, and some form of violence, but the eerie calm in the room gave him more of a gnawing sense of dread than he could have imagined.

"No, I never did," Reddington was quick to answer, taking another step forward and shaking his head again. "I don't lie to you. I've never lied to you."

"You said you didn't know anything about him."

"I said I didn't know much more than you," Reddington corrected her. "That he'd been hired to insert himself into your life. That's true. Berlin hired him to get close to you._ I_ hired him to _look; not touch_."

Reddington regretted his choice of words as Liz flinched. He swallowed and tried to redirect the conversation. "I didn't know who had turned him. I didn't even meet him until after… Sam's death." Reddington considered mentioning the conversation over coffee at the hospital; the first time he'd ever spoken to Tom Keen. He'd known who Tom was, and Tom had obviously known _exactly _who Reddington was. It had been one of the more surreal conversations of Reddington's life.

One thing at a time, he figured, and stayed silent.

"Why didn't you tell me this before? Why the hell are you telling me this now?" Liz asked, her voice louder, with a small measure of uncertainty in it. She was still glaring, horrified, across the room at Reddington like he was the Devil in a three piece suit, sent to torment her.

"I've been thinking about telling you for some time, Lizzie. I just…" The hand not holding his hat smoothed down the front of his vest absent-mindedly. "…I don't know what changed today," Reddington admitted. "I suppose… it was time to stop thinking and just do it."

"I agree to look at the apartment, and you choose _this moment_ to tell me? Do you really think this information is going to make me want to accept _anything_ from you?" Liz shouted, her voice steadily gaining strength and volume as she spoke.

Reddington felt a sudden flash of defensiveness. "You know, if you really want to blame somebody for you receiving this information, I can bring Dembe in here—?" Reddington said, leaning haphazardly to one side, shaking his head, and flinging one arm in the direction of the front door, where Dembe waited outside.

"Next to you, Tom has been the single most _destructive_ thing in my life, and _you're_ responsible for that," Liz accused, rounding the dining table toward Reddington. She stopped several yards from him, her right third and fourth fingers pressing into her scar until her knuckles turned white.

"He was only ever intended to be a level of protection for you—"

"_Protection_?" Liz spat the word at him.

"Yes," Reddington said firmly. "And that's why I didn't want to tell you this, Lizzie, because I knew—I _knew_—as soon as you had this information, you'd send me away. You'd have me locked up. However you did it, you would make sure I couldn't reach you; personally, or through any of my influence. And if you don't allow me to be in your life, I can't protect you. And that's what I do, Lizzie. Sometimes it seems like every action I take is in the pursuit of your protection—"

Liz picked up a decorative glass bowl from the side table she was standing next to, and hurled it against the exposed brick of the fireplace, where it shattered spectacularly. _That's more like it,_ Reddington thought distractedly, one eyebrow arching.

The front door opened, and Liz and Red both looked over to find Dembe in the entryway, his hand on his weapon at his hip. His eyes skipped from one to the other, concerned.

"We're okay, Dembe, thank you, if you wouldn't mind waiting just a—" Reddington said, waving a hand at the other man as he turned back to Liz.

"No, Dembe, we're not okay," Liz interrupted with finality. "You were actually both just leaving."

Reddington's hands dropped to his sides, and his expression was tormented as he looked at the woman in front of him. "Lizzie, please consider—"

"Stop," Liz demanded, her voice low and cold again. "You've been a curse on my life from the _very start_."

Reddington took another step toward her. "I understand you want me to go—"

"Then go," she said, her expression hard.

"I can't yet—"

"Reddington, _leave_."

"I need to tell you—"

Liz's controlled, angry face broke slightly, and she winced, biting her bottom lip in an effort to stay silent. Reddington caught the reflection of unshed tears in her eyes, and she shook her head at him; a desperate plea for him to stop. Swallowing thickly, she managed in a barely composed voice, "Whatever you think you need to tell me… I can't hear anything else from you tonight…"

Reddington opened his mouth to speak.

Liz stabbed a warning finger in Reddington's direction. "_Not another word_," she demanded, her voice breaking.

Reddington slowly took the three remaining steps needed to close the distance between them. Liz angrily stood her ground. Standing inches from her, he stared down into her eyes for a long moment before raising his left hand toward the side of her face. She flinched slightly, pulling back to glance at his hand, which froze in mid-air. Liz looked back up into his eyes with a note of confusion. Barely touching her, his thumb smoothed over her cheek, and he dropped his hand to rest gently on the side of her neck. He lowered his head, tilting it to one side, and moved as if to kiss her. He stopped, so close he could feel her breath on his lips. He inhaled deeply and opened his mouth to speak, his lips forming silent words he wasn't allowed to voice. After several excruciating seconds of immobility, he shook his head and leaned his brow against hers with an agonized expression as he tried to find the courage to walk away from her. Finally, with a single, sharp exhalation, he turned abruptly, palming his hat onto his head as he strode toward the door.

Reddington motioned for Dembe to precede him as he approached, and the other man did so without speaking. Reddington passed over the threshold, and without looking up at Liz, he murmured, "I just thought you should know," as he pulled the door to the apartment closed behind him.

…:::…

Oh my lord, another one-shot. What are those Lizzington Shippers on Facebook DOING to me? This isn't like me AT ALL.

Review! Please! Tell me how mean I am that I didn't give you a kiss! *laughs evilly*

**Edited to add: Okay, so the current thing in the Lizzington FB group is a prompt every day, and you have to write a story only one sentence long. After the first prompt I just HAD to sit down and expand my sentence into a story, and that's where we got Chapter 1. Now, I don't know how long this will last (I don't know what the prompts are in advance, or how busy I'll get over the next few days), but we'll see how many of the ten prompts in ten days I can weave into this fic. So... apparently NOT a one-shot.

Original prompt, day 1: "First Kiss."

My original sentence: Liz didn't move, but her breathing was as fast and shallow as his as he pulled back and laid his forehead against hers with a pained expression—trying to screw up the courage to walk away from her—before he finally turned away abruptly, palming his hat onto his head, and murmuring, "I just thought you should know," over his shoulder as he followed Dembe out the door.


	2. Luck

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 2: Luck

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Stupid one-sentence-story prompts. ::pouts:: Okay, so the current thing in the Lizzington FB group is a prompt every day, and you have to write a story only one sentence long. After the first prompt I had to sit down and expand my sentence into a story, and that's where we got Chapter 1. This is the next one. Original sentence at the end.

…:::…

Again, Dembe led the way as they exited the elevator. They'd ridden down from Liz's floor in silence, and as they passed through the lobby, Reddington was grateful for Dembe's watchful presence, as he found he wasn't aware of anything beyond his need to exit the building, and whether he was unable or unwilling, he hadn't spared a single thought to his surroundings or those watching him as he strode across the marble floor. The pair walked purposefully outside, and across the street to where Dembe had left the car.

Reddington wondered idly if Liz was watching him from her windows above as he opened the back door of the sedan with more force than was necessary, and dropped himself onto the back seat. He knew her living room faced this direction, but it was dark, and she was upset, and he had no reason to believe that she would recognize his shape from that many floors up.

If she was even at the window looking for him.

If she was even still in the apartment.

She was probably looking for some matches in order to burn the place down.

As he started the car, Dembe studied Reddington's stony face in the rearview mirror. "This might not mean much to you… but I'm proud of you," he said honestly.

Reddington shifted his gaze to meet Dembe's, but didn't respond.

"You did the right thing. No matter how hard it was to do," Dembe went on with a single nod. Reddington looked away out his window, and Dembe pulled the car out into traffic before adding gently, "You know... there is a Japanese proverb that says 'the day you decide to do it is your lucky day'."

Reddington frowned. "Dembe, you saw how…" He trailed off, and tried again. "What about that scene upstairs makes you think I'm _at all _lucky today?"

"Well… the glass she broke was not over your head," Dembe offered matter-of-factly.

Unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, Reddington gave a short laugh, and nodded. "Yes… I suppose there's that," he agreed with a small smile.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 2: "Luck."

My original sentence: The next morning as he started the car, Dembe quietly asked him if he'd decided to stop thinking, and when Reddington failed to acknowledge the question or even meet the other man's eyes in the rearview mirror he added gently, "You know... there is a Japanese proverb that says 'the day you decide to do it is your lucky day'."

Reviews! Please! (And ha! I knew this whole one-shot thing wouldn't last. I'm just not built that way.)


	3. Numb

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 3: Numb

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 3 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories. NOT MY FAULT that it gets darker; the prompt kind of mandated I swing in that direction. No idea what tomorrow holds in store—who knows, the word might be "hysterical" or "silly" and then this fic could end up being relatively schizophrenic. :/

…:::…

As Dembe drove, the pair lapsed back into their usual, comfortable silence. Reddington thought back to the way her eyes had shone, wet, but without spilled tears in the apartment. She'd stood her ground when he approached, and while she hadn't moved or responded to his proximity at all, she hadn't back away, either.

He held, somewhat desperately, to that.

Reddington had always believed that if something was both terrifying and amazing, one should definitely pursue it. Living by this rule he'd traveled the world, eaten the weird and wonderful, slept with the wild and beautiful, sampled, and tested, and accepted, and dismissed, and reveled in much of what the Earth had to offer.

There had been violence, and poor decisions, and failed attempts along the way—there was no denying that—but he kept pursuing.

Elizabeth Keen was amazing. And she terrified him.

And for the better part of two years he had been systematically _avoiding _pursuing her. Occasionally he slipped up; he couldn't help it. But this slow burn was _not_ his usual style, and it was gradually driving him crazy.

He'd broken so many of his rules for Liz, and even written a few new ones, specifically because of her.

While he was more of a seize-the-moment kind of man in practice, Reddington had always considered fighting for someone, winning their affection, and obtaining eventual happiness—despite any roadblocks or stumbling along the way—a terribly romantic idea. But standing in the apartment at the Audrey, with his forehead pressed to hers and a weight like a thousand pound stone in his chest, he had come to the conclusion that there was nothing lovely or charming about trying to continuously convince someone to love you.

Reddington suddenly remembered a trip to Italy, years ago, back when Dembe spoke fewer languages, and was just learning Russian. The meeting earlier in the day had been a complete success, and after business was concluded all parties involved had enjoyed food and wine and good conversation for too many hours in the sun on the deck of a beautiful boat. Once they stumbled back to their hotel, the pair had grabbed a bottle of limoncello and sat on the balcony, watching the sun set. After so many jokes, and so much laughter all day, they sat in silence for over an hour in the dimming twilight. Dembe eventually broke the silence by asking if Reddington had ever heard of the word 'toska'.

"It's a Russian word that they say cannot be directly translated into English. It's a… dull ache of the soul; a sick pining, or spiritual anguish," Dembe had explained, and poured the final drops of the alcohol into Reddington's glass before rising and excusing himself, citing a pressing need for a shower, and sleep.

Reddington had never asked him to clarify, and he'd never heard Dembe utter the word again.

The car pulled into the garage of their hotel, and both men got out and made their way to the elevators. When the doors closed with a gentle chime, Reddington spoke up. "I can't tell if this is killing me, or making me stronger," he said, his voice low.

Dembe didn't look at him. "'To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves'," he quoted.

"Pablo Neruda?" Reddington asked.

"Frederico Garcia Lorca," Dembe said.

The elevator announced their arrival with another chime, and Reddington made his way down the hall to their door. As he fished the key from his pocket, Reddington wondered idly how much just his heart would have fetched at the King's auction. He imagined cutting it from his own chest and offering it to them freely; he craved a way to quiet the near constant howl behind his ribs. An inability to feel anything at all was surely preferable—and less dangerous—than _this_.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 3: "Numb."

My original sentence: Reddington wondered idly how much just his heart would have fetched at the King's auction, and he imagined cutting it from his own chest to offer it to them freely; he craved a way to quiet the constant howl behind his ribs, and an inability to feel anything at all was surely less dangerous than this.

Review?


	4. Broken Wings

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 4: Broken Wings

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 4 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories. Again not my fault that there's no happiness in this one, because we got given another melancholy prompt. I'm writing this out the hour before 2x16 Tom Keen airs, and I'll probably rewrite it and finesse after the ep is over. Again, so you know where I am in the canon storyline if you stumble on this at a later date…

…:::…

All of her anger seemed to have drained from her, and Liz had the peculiar sensation of being empty. She felt lost, but found she was not nearly as worried about that fact as she thought she should be. There was a comfortable uncertainty that came with being lost in the right direction.

She stepped back from the window as the dark car pulled away on the street below, and quietly looked around the apartment. She blandly tried to imagine living there, and spent the better part of the next five minutes wandering from room to room, mentally placing personal items where she assumed she would put them if she had any intention of moving in.

After circling back into the main living space, she sighed and looked down at the shards of broken glass littering the brick fireplace and sprinkled lightly out into the room. Wanting nothing more than an additional mundane distraction so she could continue to avoid contemplating the revelations of the evening, she walked into the kitchen and looked under the sink, hoping to find something with which to clean up the mess. She didn't find it in the kitchen, but after examining the contents of the laundry room, she returned with a broom and dust pan.

Reddington had apparently thought of everything. She could move in tonight.

If she was going to.

She dumped the glass into the trash in the kitchen, and returned the broom and dust pan to their original places. She wandered back to the window to enjoy her view for a few more minutes while it was still _her _view.

He'd hired Tom.

For surveillance.

Or so he claimed.

Liz sighed in frustration. When Reddington didn't want her to know something he said nothing, or skirted the question, or spun some tale about a yogi he'd met once in a Swedish bath house. When he set about giving actual information, he tended to be relatively straight forward.

Like he had been tonight.

He had looked at her _so earnestly_.

If what Reddington had said was true, Tom had betrayed her, but he had technically betrayed Reddington first. A double agent, hired for one job, and turned in order to complete another.

No wonder Reddington hated him; he found betrayal to be a more egregious insult than almost anything else. Liz was actually amazed he hadn't killed her ex-husband.

Liz placed her hands on her hips and arched her back in a stretch. Reddington had turned himself in, established value with her and the FBI, requested to speak solely with her, and by the end of the first case had made it abundantly clear that he wanted Liz to become suspicious of her husband. He'd been trying to fix his mistake.

What would she have done if he'd come right out and confessed everything that day at the black site? Or even part of it? "Agent Keen; what a pleasure. I'm here to inform you that your mild-mannered, bespectacled husband is actually a private-sector spy who has infiltrated your life for the singular purpose of obtaining and controlling information regarding _me_."

She never would have believed him. He'd known that. He'd said as much before, telling her that she had to come to these truths in her own time. Damn that man and his penchant for being irrefutably correct.

She knew he wanted—needed—the Fulcrum, and hated that he'd been so accurate with his assessment of why she continued to keep it from him.

His guess wasn't the only reason, of course, but if Liz was going to be honest with herself, it did play a part in her decision to withhold it. If she had the Fulcrum, Reddington would have to stay near her, and the task force could continue. She was proud of how much good they'd done in eighteen months, and it was all due to the intel they got from Reddington. So she needed him to stay.

For practical reasons.

For the continued relevance of the task force.

She needed him, and as long as she had the Fulcrum, he needed her. But one of the scariest things about being needed by Reddington was the uncertainty that he might stop needing her. At any time. At the drop of a hat.

Liz suddenly felt twitchy, and began walking from room to room with purpose, turning off the lights and preparing to leave.

She knew that she mattered to him. Beyond the Fulcrum. He could have worked himself into her good graces by just continuing to provide good intel, and maybe being a bit less of a bastard in the process. There wasn't a political, calculated reason for him to build her a music box, or comfort her on the ship in the wake of Tom's captivity.

Or confess his initial involvement with Tom. He'd admitted everything tonight with nothing to gain. Liz tried to examine the possible angles he could be working from; the possible motivation for his actions this evening. As far as she could tell, he'd made what amounted to a leap of faith, with no net below him, no parachute strapped to his back, and definitely no angel wings to glide him safely to the ground. Then again, she always felt like she was only working with half the information necessary to truly figure things out when it came to Reddington.

With a grimace and a flash in her chest of something midway between fear and anticipation, Liz paused with her hand on a lamp, remembering the way he'd leaned his head against hers.

She had held as still as possible, barely breathing, acutely aware of his proximity… and Dembe's presence in the room. She had been so angry with herself for tearing up—she felt it was a sign of weakness she should be able to control better—and she hated that her voice had broken when she'd demanded his silence. When he'd approached her, she'd made a personal vow to hold her ground and not be driven back by him any more. He'd leaned in, and she had used every ounce of strength to keep from reacting.

But just because she hadn't reacted didn't mean she hadn't noticed.

Liz snapped off the final lamp, and was plunged into darkness.

After a moment's pause she found herself drawn back to the window and the glow it provided from the city below. She stabbed a frustrated finger at the glass, pressing as if she could pop the window out with just the pressure from her index finger. Frowning, Liz took another step forward and leaned her forehead against the pane, mirroring her position from earlier. She kept her eyes open this time, and looked down at the tiny people and toy cars on the street below.

Liz tried to look at her recent actions objectively. She harbored no delusions; she knew she was no angel either, but she couldn't help but wonder… if she took a leap of faith, would she have enough time to _build_ herself a set of wings before she hit the ground? Would they be strong enough to stop her descent, or would they break during their first use? Is it even possible for someone without wings to make a pair from scratch? A pair that functions?

Was that what Reddington was trying to do with this task force? Add a feather with each blacklister he crossed off his list?

Liz pushed back from the window and headed for the door, locking it behind herself with finality.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 4: "Broken wings."

My original sentence: Liz harbored no delusions; she knew she was no angel, but she couldn't help but wonder...if she jumped, would she have enough time to build herself a set of wings before she hit the ground, and would they be strong enough to stop her descent? Or would they break immediately as she attempted to fly?


	5. Melody

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 5: Melody

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 5 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories.

…:::…

After the beauty and the luxury of the apartment at the Audrey, Liz couldn't go back to her motel room. Not immediately. She pulled her car into a space near her door, and swinging her keys around her index finger once, she walked across the street to the bar she'd passed many times, but had never gone into.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, Liz was relieved to find the place crowded enough that she didn't feel awkward, empty enough that she had ample room to move, quiet enough that she could still hear herself think, and clean enough that she didn't want to immediately call the county health inspector.

She should have come over here for a drink weeks ago.

Making her way to an empty stretch of the bar in the back, Liz passed an exposed brick wall with "I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things. –Tom Waits" painted into a colorful mural on it. She picked a stool and sat down, ordered a beer, and began slowly and systematically separating the top layer of cardboard from the bottom layer of the disposable drink coaster set down in front of her.

It took less than five minutes for someone to approach her.

After taking a moment of silence to process the truly abysmal and borderline insulting pick up line used, Liz set down her drink, glanced from the man in front of her to what she could only assume was his herd of friends who were currently staring openly at her from across the bar, and cleared her throat. "I am the _last_ person in this bar you want to hit on," she stated matter-of-factly.

Her suitor smiled coyly, misunderstanding this as a flirtation technique on Liz's part. "Uh huh. Why would that be?" he asked.

Liz sighed. "I'm not trustworthy, I live in a motel, I can be emotional and reactionary, my job and personal life have me profoundly and irreversibly screwed up, I've got memory loss and most likely PTSD along with a few daddy issues, I shot my ex-husband three times in the stomach, and there's a good chance I'm about to be brought up on murder charges." She paused to take a pull on her beer. "Not my ex-husband. He survived," she explained with a straight face.

The man gave a slightly confused laugh, trying to play off her strange behavior. "Well… that all sounds pretty exciting."

Liz set the bottle down and spun on the stool to face the man directly, knowing her next move would be enough to drive The Annoyance away. "Would you lie to me? Would you hide things from me? Would you intentionally do things you _knew_ would hurt me?"

The man looked generally uncomfortable by this point. "Um… no?"

Liz nodded, and turned back to her beer. "Then, apparently, you're not my type," she said, shrugging.

She took another sip of her drink as she listened to the teasing and howling from the man's friends as he returned, shot down, to his table. It felt like old times—in her early twenties she'd made shutting guys down into something of an art form. One of her roommates at the time—a painfully shy girl—was always amazed by the way Liz could stop a man in his tracks as he tried to get her name, her number, a date.

Liz had been so surprised when all her attempts to scare Tom away had failed. The guy just kept coming back. After he'd passed several of her tests, she'd given in, and decided to see where trust and romance took her. She remembered drawing that heart on his shoe. At the time she thought she was being adorable.

Of course Tom had been persistent. He was being paid. Convincing her to love him had been his job, and he'd been good at it.

Liz crinkled her nose and took several swallows of her drink.

That same shy roommate had once confessed that whenever she entered a room full of people for the first time, she felt the need to hang back and learn the group's dynamic—the melody of the song already in progress—before trying to join in with an attempt to harmonize. Tom had probably spent his months of surveillance learning exactly how Liz operated, to the point that when his orders changed and he began his closer invasion of her life as an agent of Berlin, he already knew all her lines, and his harmony was pitch perfect.

Liz finished her beer, and left cash on the bar by the empty bottle, nodding at the bartender. She made her way back to the motel, and smiled to herself, realizing Reddington's approach had been the exact opposite of Tom's. When she'd first met him, and every day since then, Reddington had entered the room belting out his own song at full volume, existing melody and harmony be damned.

While obnoxious, and jarring, and disruptive... it was also kind of endearing.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 5: "Melody."

My original sentence: A shy friend in college had once explained to Liz that whenever she entered a room full of people for the first time, she felt the need to hang back and learn the group's dynamic-the melody of their particular song-before trying to join in and harmonize, and while Liz could appreciate that approach to social situations, she was always privately amused by the way Reddington entered a room: already belting out his own song at full volume, existing melody and harmony be damned.


	6. Rules

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 6: Rules

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 6 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories.

…:::…

The next morning, Reddington arrived at the black site alone, having left Dembe with the car and instructions to make several phone calls on his behalf, and finalize some cash transfers. As he approached the elevators, his eyes lit upon Liz's familiar form, finishing a call and pocketing her phone as the doors slid open.

"Perfect timing," Reddington said, stepping into the elevator behind Liz, and enjoying the look on her face as his previously unnoticed presence caught her off-guard. "Good morning, Lizzie," he said, his voice carefully light.

"Where's Dembe?" Liz asked stiffly.

"With the car." Reddington allowed silence for a few seconds before asking, "Have you made a decision regarding the apartment?"

"Yes."

Reddington cocked an eyebrow. "Are you moving in?"

"I'm selling it."

Reddington pursed his lips and frowned at the ground. "May I ask why?"

"I'm not going to tell Cooper," Liz changed the subject without warning, not looking at Red. "About your history with Tom. I think it would… complicate the dynamic on the task force, and I don't want to lose momentum on current cases or compromise the value of any intel you give us in future." Liz shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "That was Cooper on the phone, by the way. He wants to see both of us."

Reddington studied Liz's profile in silence.

"You believe me that the end result regarding Tom was not my original intent?" he asked carefully.

It took a long time for Liz to answer. "Yes," she finally allowed.

Reddington nodded. "I appreciate the fact that you're willing to keep this from the rest of your team. I agree that it might be detrimental if they thought I was involved with his infiltration of the black site or… any of the other setbacks we had because of him." He paused before adding, "Have you had time to consider anything else you… learned… last night?"

"You're my CI. I have to protect you as an asset. It would be negligent of me to…" Liz trailed off. "There are rules," she finished with a firm note in her voice, even though the statement was somewhat incongruous to her previous train of thought.

Reddington shook his head with a chuckle, disappointed but not surprised that Liz was cloaking herself in professionalism and guidelines to avoid discussing the more personal aspects of their confrontation the night before. "Ah! Yes. _Rules_. So important in life. Like 'treat people as you wish to be treated'... 'Killing is wrong'... 'Chew with your mouth closed'... 'Everything in moderation'... 'Honesty is the best policy'… 'Never go to bed angry'..."

As Reddington rattled off his string of examples of tenets to live by, he moved closer to Liz, and she finally turned her head to look at him when he stopped at her shoulder. "From what I've witnessed so far, working with you? You don't hold yourself to a single one of the principles you just listed," she pointed out.

"Then I suppose that gives you some insight about how much I value _rules_," he said, his voice low and deep as he looked at her with a mix of confidence and amusement, a smile playing on his lips. "I don't think they're necessarily made to be broken; I just operate under the assumption that the majority of the time… _they simply don't apply to me_."

Liz held his gaze for a long breath, suddenly noticing the flat of his hand was splayed across the small of her back. The elevator chimed their arrival, and Liz blinked and turned to look forward at the doors as they slid open. Reddington motioned with his other arm, indicating _ladies first_, and as she stepped away from his hand on her back, he said with satisfied bravado, "Let's go see Harold!"

…:::…

Original prompt, day 6: "Rules."

My original sentence: "Then I suppose that gives you some insight about how much I value _rules_," he said, his voice low and deep as he looked at her with a mix of confidence and amusement, a smile playing on his lips as he continued, "I don't think they're necessarily made to be broken, I just operate under the assumption that the majority of the time… _they just don't apply to me_."


	7. Chocolate

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 7: Chocolate

Disclaimer: Not mine, I don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 7 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories.

…:::…

On their way to Cooper's office, Samar called out to them and jogged over, halting their progress. "Cooper wants to see you," she said.

"We know; we're on our way there now," Liz replied.

"He's in with Ressler right now—something about a previous case he worked several years ago becoming active again. A few agents from the New York office wanted to talk to him, but as soon as they're done, you two are up." Aram called for Samar's attention, and she excused herself.

Liz sighed, and changed course toward her tiny office where Reddington had first offered her the key to the apartment. He followed a few steps behind her, and shut the door to the small room after they were both inside. She took a seat behind her desk and began sifting through the ever-present pile of paperwork on her desk.

"I take it you left the apartment shortly after we did last night?" Reddington asked, settling himself in a chair across from Liz. "Or did you stay and look around?"

"I left," she answered, not looking up from the folder in her hands.

"Before you sell it, go back and raid the refrigerator," Reddington advised, pointing a finger at her. "I had the kitchen completely stocked by this _gorgeous_ French pastry chef?—_massively_ obese woman, can barely move—but she knows what belongs in a kitchen. She told me once, 'there isn't a single food on Earth that can't be improved by the addition of cheese, bacon, chocolate, or alcohol; and none of those things ask for favors or question you: they just _understand_.'"

"I have cheese and chocolate at the motel, I don't like bacon, and there's a bar right across the street for nights like last night when I feel the need for alcohol," Liz replied matter-of-factly.

Reddington frowned. "Now that statement brings up several questions for me, the first—and most important—being: how can you possibly not like bacon? There are two types of people in this world, Lizzie: those who love bacon, and those who are _wrong_."

Liz blew out a frustrated breath and dropped the folder dramatically back on her desk. She folded her hands on top of it and turned her attention to Reddington, who obviously wanted to talk, and was not going to give her enough peace to get even a _shred _of work done while they waited to be called in to Cooper's office. "I don't know," she said, irritated. "It's a texture thing."

"Okay, I officially respect you just a _little bit less_," Reddington said, crinkling his nose and leaning forward in his chair. "And my second question is about the bar across the street. Please tell me you ate something more substantial for dinner last night than something off a _bar menu_."

"I didn't eat there. I had one beer, and went home." Liz looked back down at the folder on her desk and flipped it open again. "I skipped dinner."

Reddington leaned back in his chair, studying the woman across from him. "Yes, I see what you mean, Lizzie, you're _fine_ where you are; living in that motel is obviously promoting _many _healthy lifestyle habits. Drinking alone and not eating. Definitely a recipe for success."

"Who said I was alone?"

There was a beat before Reddington asked carefully, "You went there to meet someone?"

"I had a nice conversation," Liz offered enigmatically, enjoying the uncomfortable way Reddington shifted in his seat.

"Not that it's any of my business—"

"You're right, it's not."

"—but I don't think meaningful relationships start by meeting people in _bars_," Reddington advised.

"You prefer stalking?" Liz asked, catching his eyes and pinning him with a steely gaze for several seconds before looking back down at her papers.

"I suppose I deserved that. But I'm not being facetious when I say—"

Annoyed at Reddington's comments on how she had decided to spend her evening, Liz interrupted with sarcasm, "Well, since you apparently chose my first husband for me—and that was _such_ a success—how about I just sit back and let you choose the next one, too, hmm?"

Reddington frowned at her tone and her willful distortion of the actual facts, but shot a smile at her anyway. "Alright then, let's see..." he began. "He needs to be intelligent... interesting... with a steady income, and it wouldn't hurt if he was a decent-looking fellow..."

The door to the office swung open, and Ressler paused at the threshold to give a nod of his head in the general direction of Cooper's office. "You ready?"

Reddington leaned to one side to look up at the other man for a moment before turning back to Liz with an overly-enthusiastic smile spreading across his face and raised eyebrows, as if he'd just had a wonderful idea.

Liz rolled her eyes when she realized what he was suggesting, and shot Reddington a glare as she shoved back from her desk with a low sound of frustration. She pushed past Ressler in the doorway without looking at the younger man and headed toward Cooper's office.

"What was that about?" he asked, confused.

Reddington laughed and shook his head, standing up and meeting Ressler's eyes with a mix of pity and mirth. "Oh, Donald... she doesn't like you," he said with false gravity, spreading his arms in a gesture of hopelessness, before motioning him to follow Liz. "Shall we?" he said brightly.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 7: "Chocolate."

My original sentence: "You should have kept the apartment, Lizzie; you know I had the kitchen completely stocked by this _gorgeous_ French pastry chef?—massively obese woman, can barely move—but she knows what belongs in a kitchen; her credo is, 'there isn't a single food on Earth that can't be improved by the addition of cheese, bacon, chocolate, or alcohol; and none of those things ask for favors or question you: they just _understand_.'"


	8. Nostalgia

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 8: Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Not mine, I don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 8 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories. I realize my sequence of events is all wonky with this now, since Liz hasn't been to court, but Cooper has been in the hospital. Sorry. Messing with the wibbly wobbly timey wimey ball that is the Blacklist Timeline is my prerogative as the author. So "deal with that". (My new favorite line.) Sorry for the shorty—working on a painting! Lizzington-themed! It's getting my attention today.

…:::…

"I'm going to need the two of you to behave," was Cooper's opening line as Liz and Red took their seats in front of his desk.

Liz looked up quickly, confused and wary. "Sir?" she asked, her expression requesting clarification.

"I'm taking personal leave for the next five days. My wife's family is having a reunion, and… I'd rather not pass up these opportunities when I have them. While I'm gone…" Cooper looked at them with chagrin. "Just try to stay out of trouble. As a personal favor. To me. Please."

"Harold, I'm insulted," Reddington said, one hand to his chest as if Cooper's words wounded him deeply, a comically sad expression on his face. "Frankly, I think Agent Keen's and my track record has proven we work quite well together, whether we have your…_exceptional_ oversight… or not."

Cooper looked at Reddington with dissatisfaction.

"Oh, come on, Harold. You're about to go on vacation. Try not to look so…" Reddington gestured at Cooper. "…_constipated_."

The director rolled his eyes in irritation.

"Are you giving the same 'best behavior' speech to the rest of the team, too?" Liz asked, feeling more than a little singled out.

"No, just you. Because the two of you are my problem children. Ressler's going to be on loan to the New York office for the next week, Samar doesn't go around settling scores and racking up body counts—" Reddington raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, "—and Aram…" Cooper trailed off, his eyes flicking to the Get Well card on his desk for a moment. "…Aram doesn't get out of the office much… at least not enough to get into the kind of trouble _you_ two do," he finished, a strange look on his face.

Reddington titlted his head to one side and began, "If by 'trouble' you mean the apprehension of some of the world's most heinous and loathsome criminals, then—"

"Breaking and entering; contamination and concealment of crime scenes; blowing up your previous family's home in the suburbs—" Reddington opened his mouth to speak, as Liz turned to look at him sharply, but Cooper cut them both off with an admonishing finger stabbed in Red's direction. "Don't bother denying it, I _know_ that was you; accessory to drug trafficking and money laundering; shootings; strangulations; illegal organ transplants; at least two instances of exhumation for God only knows what purpose; kidnappings; robberies; witness intimidation—"

As Cooper continued to list their past transgressions, ticking them off on his fingers for emphasis, Reddington grinned and laughed, interrupting him to say, "We _have_ had some good times in the last eighteen months, haven't we, Harold? Imagine how mind-numbingly monotonous and_ tedious_ your life would be if the two of us weren't in it." Reddington stood and made his way to the door, pausing to add, "Not that this little discussion isn't stirring fond feelings of nostalgia deep within me, but it sounds like what you're saying is we have the next five days off, and should refrain from officially sanctioned work. Is that about the size of it?"

Cooper looked as if he expected there to be a catch. "Yes," he allowed slowly, "but I'm sure Agent Keen can take this opportunity to catch up on outstanding paperwor—"

"Splendid," said Reddington, opening the door and leaving without a backward glance.

"Enjoy your time away, Sir," Liz said in a resigned voice tinged with envy as she stood. "Is there anything else?" she asked.

"No, Agent Keen. Thank you."

Liz nodded and gave a sigh as she excused herself and headed back to her own office and the mountain of paperwork awaiting her.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 8: "Nostalgia."

My original sentence: As Cooper continued to list their past transgressions, ticking them off on his fingers for emphasis, Reddington grinned and laughed, interrupting him to say, "We HAVE had some good times in the last eighteen months, haven't we, Harold? Imagine how mind-numbingly BORING your life would be if the two of us weren't in it."


	9. Heartbeat

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 9: Heartbeat

Disclaimer: Not mine, I don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Day 9 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories. I'm sorry this didn't get posted yesterday—I was finishing a painting: my new profile icon! We've got this chapter and one more to go before the Ten Days of One Sentence Lizzington Prompts is officially over! Cross your fingers for me that I can wrap this up appropriately.

…:::…

When Liz arrived home to the motel that night, her eyes tired and tight from staring at computer screens and small-print files since that morning, she found Reddington sitting on her bed, his back against the headboard, his legs outstretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His shoes were on, but his feet were politely angled off the bed, and his coat was draped over a chair by the window. He had the television remote in one hand, and as Liz paused to take in the scene in front of her, he hit the power button and set it aside on the nightstand.

"You know, I rarely watch television," Reddington said instead of a traditional greeting, "but when I do get the chance every now and then, I'm reminded why I don't: there's never anything _exciting _on."

"What are you doing here?" Liz asked, her expression a cross between suspicion and exhaustion as she closed the door behind her. She didn't bother to ask how he'd gained access in the first place.

"Just getting a sense of how The Other Half lives," Reddington replied, watching Liz as she put her bag and keys down on the table and kicked off her shoes. She sat in the chair that was currently housing Reddington's coat, and leaned her head into her hand, one elbow on the small table beside her.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, all joking aside.

"No, I came straight home, under the apparently mistaken impression that for once I might be able to take a long, hot, uninterrupted shower after a day at the office, and then just throw myself straight into bed and catch up on a good ten hours of sleep." Liz looked at Reddington, whose face was unreadable. "Neither of which I'm going to do with you here," she hinted.

Reddington shook his head. "Let me take you to dinner. I stumbled on the most wonderful Moroccan restaurant the other day. If you can believe it, they actually serve—"

"You don't need to keep offering to buy me things. Bribery isn't going to get you anywhere." Liz leaned back in the chair. She was aware that she was probably pressing creases into Reddington's coat, but she found she didn't really care.

"Bribery implies I want something in return that you'd otherwise be unwilling to give."

Liz thought of the stuffed rabbit that was currently perched less than two feet from Reddington, and fought the urge to glance at it. She trained her eyes resolutely on his face.

After a beat, he asked, "Is it in this room? The Fulcrum?"

Liz raised an eyebrow and shot an _I told you so_ look at Reddington, who sighed, and shifted on the bed. "Just a question, Lizzie. Has nothing to do with dinner."

"Or the apartment, I'm sure," she said pointedly.

"I bought you that apartment because I care about your well-being, which I think is in jeopardy the longer you live in this motel room. It was not an attempt to lubricate or loosen your grip on the Fulcrum. Contrary to what you believe, that object is not the primary reason that I'm still here."

"What is?" Liz asked, tired of half-answers or no answers at all. As expected, Reddington offered nothing, and simply held her gaze for several long seconds before she looked away.

"You sent Zamani to my house. The day we met—that night. You sent him, didn't you?" Liz asked quietly, a frown on her face.

Reddington took a deep breath and opened his mouth, reconsidered what he was going to say, and instead gave a single nod. "Is this about Tom?" he asked carefully.

"You came back into my life to get rid of him. To try to fix your mistake." Liz leaned forward and shrugged off her suit jacket, laying it across the table next to her, as if performing mundane tasks could somehow normalize the conversation she was having with a criminal about his previous attempts on her ex-husband's life. "Did you tell Zamani to kill him? Or just hurt him?" Reddington didn't respond. "You said Zamani did me a favor when I told you Tom was in the hospital, dying. You told me my husband didn't _matter_," she reminded him. "When you found out he'd survived, why didn't you just finish the job? Send someone to adjust something with his IV and get him out of the picture from the start?" Liz shrugged, tired of feeling frustrated. "Why even leave him in my life, Red?"

"You had no actual proof that I'd had anything to do with Zamani's attack on Tom, and yet I seem to remember an uncomfortable incident with a _pen_." Reddington cocked an eyebrow. "You were volatile, Lizzie. I didn't realize the effect losing him would have on you; I'd miscalculated how our first case would proceed, and the level of value I'd be able to establish. I realized _this_—" Reddington gestured between the two of them. "—would take time. So I... adjusted my plans."

"I also never would have found out about him," Liz added quietly. "I would have buried him thinking he was a devoted husband. A school teacher. An innocent victim."

"Would that have been preferable? No infiltration of the black site, no anguish over the choice to adopt, no sense of betrayal, no boat, no harbor master—"

"No _you_," Liz interrupted softly. When Reddington fell silent, Liz motioned at him and shook her head. "We wouldn't have worked together. If I'd had to bury Tom during the course of our very first case, I wouldn't have joined the task force, and we would never have worked a case together again."

Reddington bobbed his head, considering the end results of the proposed alternate timeline for longer than Liz had expected him to. Just when she was about to speak up again, Reddington cleared his throat. He swallowed, and met Liz's eyes, a small twitch under his left eye giving the general impression that he was uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said suddenly, his voice deep and raw. He shook his head, and raised one hand to brush at the skin just below his ear, which struck Liz as strange, as Reddington was not one to fidget. "Despite everything I told you last night, I don't think I've said that yet," he added.

Liz gave him a sad but grateful smile in exchange for the unexpected apology. "Thank you," she said. She knew the correct response was _I forgive you_, but found she was unable to make her mouth form the words.

The pair sat in silence for another minute until, with a harsh exhale, Reddington pushed himself off of the bed and walked toward Liz, reaching behind her for his coat. "The human heart is in near constant motion, Lizzie," he said, lifting it from the back of the chair as she leaned forward to give him access to it. "It doesn't stop beating for the entire span of your life. Years, with no rest; no day off. A person's continued existence relies almost entirely on that one organ; on complex electrical signals telling muscles to contract regularly and predictably." He paused, but didn't step away, looking down at Liz as he pulled on his coat. "So when I tell you that my desire for you to be ultimately safe and happy is as consistent as the human heart, I want you to understand the depth and breadth of the analogy."

Looking up at Reddington as he stood above her, not moving despite the acquisition of his coat, Liz took a deep breath and fixed him with an argumentative look. "The human heart is fickle," she disagreed. "It falls in and out of love all the time. If I've learned anything in the last eighteen months, it's that you can't rely on someone's heart."

Reddington forced a ghost of a smile across his lips. "I was referring to the consistency of _heartbeats_, not _feelings_. The topic of _love_..." Reddington trailed off, sighed, and shook his head to the side, finally backing away from Liz. "Well," he restarted, phrasing his question like a statement, "that would be an entirely different discussion, wouldn't it."

Realizing with disappointment but not surprise that Liz was not going to ask him to stay, accept his offer for dinner, or even drop her guard tonight, he moved toward the door, plucking his hat from its place atop the television on his way.

"But rules don't apply to you," Liz said suddenly. "You said so yourself. Or were you referring to someone else's heart in your analogy?"

His hand on the door knob, Red shook his head. "No, Lizzie. The consistency of heartbeats is one rule even I don't get to break." He twisted the handle, and swung the door open.

"Seems like you bend it often enough," Liz muttered somewhat sourly, wondering why she was even still talking, still trying to argue and antagonize him. "You've died twice."

Reddington paused halfway through the door and turned to look back at Liz with suspicion. "Say that again," he commanded, his voice low and quiet.

"You... you told me your heart stopped once. In Marrakesh?" Liz's eyes skittered away from Reddington to skip noncommittally across the motel room as she stuttered to answer. "You said... you said you were dead for two minutes, and that I wouldn't believe what you saw on—on the other—"

Liz jumped slightly and spun her head back to look at Reddington as he closed the door firmly and shifted his weight, leaning to the side and tilting his head, effectively lowering his face in the direction of Liz's immediately downturned gaze. He shook his head to reprimand her. "Lizzie, you have a terrible poker face. You said 'twice'." Liz raised her eyes, attempting-and failing-to keep a neutral look on her face. Reddington raised his eyebrows as he searched her face.. "Yeah. I'm going to need a few more details regarding that, I think," he said, tossing his hat back onto the TV.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 9: "Heartbeat."

My original sentence: Reddington pushed himself off of her bed and walked toward her, reaching behind her for his coat as he explained, "The human heart is in near constant motion, Lizzie: it doesn't stop beating for the entire span of your life-*years*, with no rest, no day off... a person's continued existence relies almost entirely on that one organ; on complex electrical signals telling muscles to contract regularly and predictably; no other organ or muscle in your body is that *vital*; so when I tell you that my desire for you to be ultimately safe and happy is as consistent as the human heart... I want you to understand the depth and breadth of the analogy."


	10. Stranger

Just Thought You Should Know

Chapter 10: Stranger

Disclaimer: Not mine, I don't make money from this, I just love them.

Author's Note: Final chapter! :D Day 10 of the Lizzington FB group's 10 days of One Sentence Stories. For this last one, I decided to go out with a bang, so I wrote a crazy sentence with no plan in place, just to see if I could connect the dots. If it doesn't work… experimentation is the spice of life. I regret nothing. ;)

…:::…

Liz jumped slightly as Reddington closed the door firmly and shifted his weight, leaning to the side and tilting his head, effectively lowering his face in the direction of Liz's immediately downturned gaze. He shook his head to reprimand her. "Lizzie, you have a terrible poker face. You said 'twice'." Liz raised her eyes, attempting—and failing—to keep a neutral expression. Reddington raised his eyebrows as he searched her face. "Yeah. I'm going to need a few more details regarding that, I think," he said, and tossed his hat back onto the TV. He crossed back to the bed and sat down on the corner of it, directly in front of Liz, and leaned his elbows forward on his knees, pinning her with an expression of patient expectation.

Liz sighed and shifted in the chair, knowing that a lie would get her nowhere, but still confused enough about where she stood with Reddington that the idea of him expressing any kind of gratitude or appreciation made her uncomfortable. After a long pause, she offered, "I couldn't find a pulse. After the explosion. At the Factory." Reddington didn't move or speak, indicating he was waiting for more. Liz rolled her eyes. "There was… debris… my ears were ringing, you were on the ground… I felt for your pulse; there wasn't one. I… performed CPR until I heard shouts coming from down the corridor." Liz gave a small grimace of embarrassment mixed with regret. "I left you. I covered you back up before I ran at the men coming down the hall and put up enough of a fight that it took two of them to drag me away." Liz nodded uncomfortably. "I thought you were dead," she added stiffly. "When you walked into the room with Braxton later, I didn't—" Liz broke off, and shrugged. "So you've actually died twice," she finished matter-of-factly.

Reddington cleared his throat. "You put it so eloquently once before," he said quietly. "When someone does something nice for you, you say 'thank you'?" he quoted.

"You would have done the same," Liz said, eyeing Reddington cautiously, fully expecting another reprimand for saving his life.

"Yes, but we've already established the lengths _I'm_ willing to go to to keep _you_ safe. The lengths _you_ will go to to ensure _my_ safety have, up until recently, been untested and somewhat up for debate. But now I do believe I'm starting to see a pattern emerge."

"You know the expression, 'once is chance, twice is coincidence? A third time is a pattern'." Liz corrected, idly pushing at the fabric of her jacket on the table next to her.

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you," Reddington reprimanded her, the edge of anger he'd been trying to keep out of his voice starting to creep in. "I've always found it strange how people choose to decorate their feelings and insecurities in excuses and resentment, and stranger still that they tend to _enjoy_ remaining at war with themselves about it on a daily basis. You've endangered yourself to save my life—repeatedly—you've insisted that you care about me, and you've admonished me for not showing the appropriate level of gratitude for your actions in the past." He shook his head, his eyes hardening slightly. "But _today…_ you're discarding my thanks and telling me that both times you've come to my rescue amount to nothing greater than a _coincidence_." Reddington stood. "Frankly, it feels a little like a slap in the face, which I'm no stranger to, but when they're metaphorical, I must admit, they're not _half_ as much fun."

"Would you prefer a real one? That can be arranged," Liz said, defensiveness welling up in her throat. "You're such a hypocrite," she spat at him, standing to face him. "Do you know anyone in the world who is better at holding a grudge than you? It's been _a day_ since you told me about your involvement with Tom. _A day._ It's honestly a little tough to even look at you right now without that knowledge coloring the view. Every hour I remember something else you said—or _he_ said; something else clicks into place and I'm angry all over again, and I'm so goddamn sick of feeling betrayed, and _you_!" She waved a dismissive hand at him. "You spent the morning joking about rules, Ressler, and _bacon_," she said acerbically.

"That's all I can do right now, Lizzie… in front of other people," Reddington said, spreading his arms in a gesture of defeat, the words seemingly torn from him. "Last night I confessed something I'm ashamed of to the woman…" He trailed off and started again, frustrated. "I told you about Tom, I tried to tell you more, about… You told me not to say another word, and I _still_ tried to explain how I…" Reddington shook his head, wincing, before starting over with more power and confidence in his tone. "You not only refused to move into the apartment, you're getting _rid _of it. You explained that you plan to keep quiet about my past with Tom Keen simply because you want to ensure my continued worth as a source of information at work. This morning you goaded me with references to conversations in bars last night, but you_ refuse_ to have dinner with _me_, and just now you made sure to explain that you don't respect or trust the idea that a human heart can love with any true consistency. That kind of global rejection on _all possible levels_ is difficult to take, no matter how brave a face one puts on." Reddington let out a harsh breath. "I know you've had a rough twenty-four hours, but mine haven't exactly been peachy, either."

"You can't expect me to just immediately forgive you and roll right back into the level of trust we'd barely managed to establish before last night," Liz said softly. "I actually think, all things considered, I'm doing fairly well so far. I could have refused to speak to you this morning at the office. I could have kicked you out as soon as I got home tonight."

Reddington sighed. "I don't suppose you have any kind of a timeline or estimate on how long you're going to want to punish me for this?" he asked in a similarly quiet tone.

"When I develop a schedule you'll be the first to know," Liz said, somewhat miserably.

Reddington nodded. "I should go."

Liz moved toward the door, and pulled it open for him. She leaned her shoulder into it, the door handle digging into one hip. She didn't look at him.

He walked toward her, stopping inches from where she stood, but she still didn't react. "I need you to be safe, and happy. And the longer this goes on, the more desperately I find I need it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be damned if I've done all of this… come this far… just for you to end up getting hurt in some misguided attempt to save me from something that I probably thoroughly deserve. You asked me if I'm able to accept help? Yes, I am. Just not from you; not at the expense of your safety. If something happened to you, then all the heinous things I've done to ensure your well-being would be for naught. I may be a monster, but I cling to the fact that keeping you safe is not a monstrous goal. If something happened to you… Don't endanger the only thing that redeems my actions. I'm begging you."

They both stood, frozen in place, Liz's eyes locked on the floor, Red's eyes locked on her face. After an agonizingly long silence, Reddington tipped his head down, palmed his hat back onto his head, and eased past Liz through the door.

Just as he cleared the threshold, Liz's hand shot out and grabbed at his, her fingers desperately twining between his and giving a single long, hard squeeze. After several seconds, her thumb ran slowly over one of his knuckles before her fingers haltingly withdrew from his.

Reddington looked up at her, momentarily off-balance. He found her gaze still trained on his hand, hanging at his side now that she had released it. He watched her, her breathing quick, her body still partially hidden behind the door. Without raising her eyes, she began to swing the door closed. Just before he lost sight of her face, she paused and offered, "…just so you know."

Reddington took a quick, short step toward the door as it clicked closed, his eyes roving over it as his mind lurched forward in an off-kilter attempt at understanding. As if he could reach through it, he placed his palm lightly on the ugly painted door and considered knocking, asking for readmission. In the end, he satisfied himself with lightly tapping his index finger on the wood, giving a half smile, and murmuring softly, "Take your time, Lizzie," as he walked away.

Inside the hotel room, Liz waited, her back pressed against the door. As she heard Reddington walk away, she let out the breath she'd been holding, and slid down to sit on the floor.

…:::…

Original prompt, day 10: "Stranger."

My original sentence: "I've always found it strange how people choose to decorate their feelings and insecurities in excuses and resentment, and stranger still that they tend to *enjoy* remaining at war with themselves about it on a daily basis," Reddington said as he advanced on Liz, his admonishment making her face burn, but she held her ground, defensiveness blazing in her; while his assessment hit painfully close to home, his hypocrisy infuriated her, and before she had time to examine her instinct, his head had snapped to the side, driven by the force of her open palm.

Thank you to everyone who has commented and favorited and followed this story! I've had so much fun writing it over the last ten days, and while I'm super surprised I was able to keep up with it, I'm SO glad I did. :) I know, I deviated from my original sentence quite abominably this time, but I tried, and tried, and could NOT get them believably to a point where that would happen, and then get them back out again. Sorry this got all angsty again by the end, and I know it's a little cliff-hangery, but I couldn't wrap it up any better given the time constraints I put on this little exercise. Maybe one day I'll do a sequel, but not soon. I need to get Gestalt back on the rails. ;)


End file.
